In the Dark
by Beechwood0708
Summary: A series of twenty Howince drabbles, exactly 300 words long, based around the theme 'in the dark', from the drabble123 community on LiveJournal.
1. My Lover's Bed

I've decided to try the challenge on the LiveJournal community drabble123 (h t t p : / / c o m m u n i t y . l i v e j o u r n a l . c o m / d r a b b l e 1 2 3 /). The idea is, you choose a fandom, a character or pairing and a length of 100, 200 or 300 words and a table of twenty prompts based on a theme, and write a drabble of exactly that length for each prompt. I chose Howince for 300 words, based on the 'In the Dark'table. And this is what I came up with.

I've got a load of these to come, having hadachance to do a bit of holiday writing in Nerja, and I'm just posting some now while I'm typing up the next chapter of Dead Man Walking. Hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I have said countless times (well, not exactly countless, it's the same as the number of Boosh fics I've written) that Julian Barratt and Noel Fielding, and not me, own the Boosh. Some day, I may say I do own them, just for a laugh.

My Lover's Bed

Howard stood browsing his record collection, trying to decide what he would have been playing had Vince not been in the room. Vince was sprawled out over Howard's bed, legs spread and arms out wide over his head, just lying there, relaxing.

"Your bed's crap," he stated suddenly. Howard turned away from his records to face him, and Vince began to bounce softly, his hips regularly rising an inch or so and his bottom sinking into the mattress. "No bounce to it."

"You know why that is, don't you, little man?" Howard replied, coming over and sitting down next to him. "It's because you got the new mattress."

"I needed it," Vince pouted, shifting onto his side to face Howard.

"And you think I didn't?" Howard retorted, punching the bed with the side of his fist to demonstrate. Vince's eyes lingered on the spot where it left a slight hollow in the sagging mattress, and he shrugged.

"My bed sees more action than yours."

Howard thought a moment. "True, it does," he admitted. "I don't see why I don't just move into your room. We could get rid of this bed, and I'll just keep my stuff in here, since you can't bear the sight of it."

He tweaked Vince's nose, and Vince pouted.

"I like having two beds."

Howard chuckled, and put a hand on Vince's side to push him over onto his front, and gave him a few light taps on the bum. "Spoilt, spoilt, spoilt," he chided, a grin creeping onto his face.

Vince giggled and shuffled closer. Howard lay down and joined him in a warm cuddle, and sighed softly.

"I wanna sleep in your bed tonight," Vince mumbled, his face buried in Howard's chest.

"Why?"  
Vince just shrugged, and Howard smiled and pulled him closer.


	2. Moonlight

Look, I'm a proper member of the gang now! A 300-word monologue from the Moon! I've only ever done a few lines from him before, so I hope I've pulled him off alright. Though there are many good judges of this, and I await your verdict.

Warning: the Moon's dialogue is an abomination under grammar. But that's what makes him IC, I suppose. Unless I've got it completely wrong.

Moonlight

This one time, I saw this man, and this woman… they were coming out of a cocktail bar. And the man; he was all big, and he looked all silly, with his moustache… And the lady was very pretty, and she point at the Moon, and say; "Howard, look at the Moon, ain't he pretty?"

And the man- he a bit drunk- he smile and say; "The alabaster Moon." Then he staggered a bit.

And then the woman giggled, and she must be a bit drunk too, and she say; "Don't he look like a retard?"

I thought "I don't like this lady. She ain't even got any boobs."

And the man, he looked at the Moon, and he got the lady to look at the Moon, and while he was looking at the Moon, he say; "The Moon is an amazing thing, Vince. He's over two thousand miles wide, and he's up there, a quarter of a million miles away, orbiting. He never stops. And sometimes, he looks down on us and tells us his thoughts. We could do very well to listen to the Moon's words of wisdom, Vince."

That's what he said. I don't like him. He called me fat.

The lady wait a bit; I suppose she thinking, and she say; "I still think he's a retard."

Then the man say; "Yeah, he is a bit." And they stop looking at the Moon.

So then, they looking at each other, and the lady say; "He is a bit romantic though, ain't he?"

And the man say; "Yes he is," and then… they kissing, and they using tongues, and… it was disgusting. I shouldn't have watched, but I'm the Moon, I can watch anyone.

And this lady- I don't think she was a lady.

I'm the Moon.


	3. No More Lonely Nights

More fluff. I don't really have much to say about it. Vince's POV, which is getting easier to write for some reason. Maybe it's because it's so short. I normally fnd Howard's much easier.

Just to let everyone know, I have six more of these written, and hopefully the other eleven shouldn't be too long. If anyone wants to see the other six before I post them here (I'm doing it in between replying to reviews and writing Dead Man Walking), they have been posted on my LJ, after many painful hours wrestling with html. Link is on my profile.

Anyway, hope you enjoy.

No More Lonely Nights

Howard doesn't really understand why I cuddle so much in bed. I don't think he really likes it. I mean, we've woken up in some bizarre positions before. One time, he was just lying on his front, and I was right on top of him so he couldn't get up. Another time I was lengthways on the bed, lying over his stomach. And once, he had me with my arms round his neck and legs round his hips, latching on to him like a baby monkey. He couldn't get me off, 'cause I was clung on like a limpet, so he waited for me to wake up, cradled me like a baby and just said "Morning," and for some reason, I burst out laughing.

I've always wanted to cuddle though, with everyone I've been with. Howard would probably say it's pathological or something, about me needing to feel loved, and maybe it is. I've always felt it. I hate sleeping alone. That's why there's been so many people. I like having another body close to me. But the thing is, they're usually one-night stands, so it's different. It's all about convenience and orgasms. You don't want to see them again, and they don't want to see you again. So you can't ask them to cuddle afterwards.

But it was the best I could get. I haven't really ever done the proper relationship thing; I think my longest was about eight months. But I loved it at night. When it didn't last, it was so hard to go back to sleeping alone. So hello one-night stands.

Howard doesn't really understand that. He's only ever slept alone. So he doesn't really understand this feeling where you need to feel someone next to you loving you back.

But he puts up with it.


	4. Long Dark Night of the Soul

Another one, because I hate having finished stuff unposted.

This was meant to be a sort of exploration of the way Vince doesn't really seem to have any moral conscience in some ways. I'm thinking mainly of the Chokes, where it's heavily implied that he had the leadsinger of the Black Tubes murdered, and doesn't seem to feel any remorse at all. My thinking was that if he's never experienced the tragedy of death, he would have no idea of the impact it could have on someone and the damage that it can really do. So if he was suddenly faced with that tragedy, how could it affect him?

It didn't really turn out like that, but that's where it came from anyway.

Long Dark Night of the Soul

The night Vince learned of human suffering was the night Howard felt closest to him.

He had come home just after half past two, shell-shocked and quiet. Howard had been in bed, having been tired all evening, and didn't realise that Vince was there until he crept in with him and clutched him so tightly that Howard thought he would bruise. Howard looked down to find him with his face pressed into Howard's shoulder and his eyes wide open. Howard held him and spoke to him, but Vince hadn't said a word all night.

It was through someone else that Howard finally learned what had actually happened. All Vince had ever said on the subject was "I didn't realise", which eventually expanded to "I didn't realise that's what it was like".

Apparently, someone had died. Accidentally overdosed on heroin in the toilets, and died right in front of him. Vince hadn't known him; they'd met that night through someone else, but it was undeniable that he'd been upset. There had been three others who'd seen; two taking, and one just in the wrong place at the wrong time. They'd all apparently been shaken, but none of them quite as badly as Vince.

Howard had no doubts that Vince had kissed someone else. He didn't care; it wouldn't have been the first time. Vince kissed almost everyone. As long as it was only the mouth he kissed, Howard wasn't going to think twice. After all, it had been him that Vince had come back to in the dead of night when he had been suffering.

And Howard hadn't questioned a thing. He'd just done his best to help Vince through it, holding him close and keeping him safe, and watching as his eyes opened up for tears that would never come.


	5. Shooting Stars

First thing- a message to Jamie. Dead Man Walking is not on schedule. I know you said don't rush it, but I really did want to have it finished for your birthday. I'm not sure that's gonna happen now, which feels like a bit of a let-down. I'll do it ASAP, but in the meantime, I'll put more drabbles up.

And it is now your birthday, so Happy Birthday darlin!

Shooting Stars

They always gravitated to the roof on clear nights, and they weren't quite sure why. Some nights they would kiss until they couldn't breathe, losing themselves and almost falling, and some nights they would sit and hold hands and laugh and talk about anything, and some nights they would just stay and look at the sky.

"Shooting star!" Vince cried suddenly one night, pointing and gripping Howard's arm. They watched it sail slowly on by. "What did you wish for?" Vince asked.

Howard smiled, chuckling softly. "I'm not telling you that," he answered.

"No come on, tell me."

"I can't tell you, or it won't come true."

"Oh Howaaaaaaaaaaaard," Vince whined, squeezing Howard's arm tighter. "You have to tell me. You love me, right?"

"Yes…"

"So that makes you like my soulmate or something, and that must mean that we share a soul, which means we're basically one person, which means we have one mind and I should know everything you know, and if we're one person it wouldn't affect your wish anyway, which means you have to tell me everything I ask." He paused for breath. "Don't it?"

Howard sighed. "I suppose it does."

"So what did you wish for?"

"Well… if I'm honest, I didn't actually wish for anything. I mean, I've got you, I've got jazz, I've got a flat most people would kill for, we've got the shop to keep us going… we don't really need anything else. I just wished for things to stay the way they are."

He looked over at Vince, and saw him looking at the sky with a sheepish look on his face. Vince noticed, and avoided Howard's gaze. "I feel well shallow now," he mumbled, his eyes and face turning downwards.

"Why, what did you wish for?"

"Silver cowboy boots."


	6. Dancing in the Dark

I don't have much to say on this. More Vince POV. He grew on me.

Dancing in the Dark

He's started listening to jazz on MP3 now instead of records, so he can use headphones. Bollo said that if he played any more audible jazz, he'd rip is arms right off. So he got an MP3 player for when Bollo's in a bad mood.

But he's gotten a bit paranoid about it. He reckons Bollo's gonna blow his top if there's any hint of jazz around. So he's started taking precautions. It's hilarious. He makes sure that no one's there, switches off all the lights, and puts the headphones on.

And then he goes into a jazz trance.

He doesn't know I've seen him. He gets so deep into the juju, he's completely dead to outside stimuli. I just turn the light off in the bedroom and slip on through, and I can sit in the dark and watch him, and he's none the wiser. He's so funny, dancing to nothing in the dark. He'd kill me if he ever found out I'd seen.

He's got no grace at all. I can't see any sense of rhythm in the way he moves. His limbs just sort of jerk around randomly, like a meerkat with a twitch. And he scats as well, but really quietly. It's just like he's whispering nonsense. And you can tell when he really starts getting into it, 'cause everything gets faster and jerkier and spazzier, and I swear sometimes he jumps a little bit off the floor. And you can just tell, as well, if the light from the window shines on him, that he gets this weird sort of orgasm-face, all scrunched up and serious. It's quite frightening, actually. I'm glad he doesn't look like that when he's actually having an orgasm.

He doesn't know I watch him. He'd kill me if he did.


	7. A Midnight Clear

Argh, I sorted all this out when I first uploaded it and must have forgotten to press save changes. This is what 4:30am does to me.

Drabble 7, now with formatting.

I'm not actually sure I like this that much. It's far more regular and conventional than my usual poetic fare. It's not really innovative, but I suppose since it's not as personal to me as my other poetry, it's okay to be a bit less experimantal.

A Midnight Clear

Once upon a midnight clear  
They walked as lovers do,  
The sparkling shining beauty  
And the man of simple truth.  
One of them was singing,  
A long-forgotten tune  
That he had just remembered  
And the other never knew.  
The alabaster moon shone down upon them,  
Silver light like crystal tears,  
Though they didn't notice as they walked like lovers  
Once upon a midnight clear.

Once upon a midnight still  
They were drunk as ever they'd been,  
Running from the real world  
To somewhere neither would be seen.  
Their minds told them to hurry,  
For one at least would be missed,  
But their hearts and souls begged time eternal  
As silently they kissed.  
They fell upon the ground in passion  
As ever lovers will  
And made love where none would ever see  
Once upon a midnight still.

Once upon a midnight blue  
They watched post-coital bliss depart,  
As one turned to the other  
And opened up his heart.  
"If they don't understand, will you lose everything? What if they reject you? Will they hate you? What if they destroyed you and I was to blame?"  
The other simply smiled  
And took him by the hand.  
He looked deep into his eyes  
And said; "They'll understand."  
So the other vowed he would believe  
What his lover swore was true,  
And they felt the world go past them  
Once upon a midnight blue.

Once upon a midnight clear  
They walked as lovers should,  
Knowing that their lives would change  
But unsure how they would.  
They waked the city arm-in-arm,  
Close as though the night was cold,  
And it shook the blue-eyed beauty,  
Who had only ever been so bold.  
The other led him to the open  
And held his lover dear  
Where all the world could see them  
Once upon a midnight clear.


	8. Dark Desires

This ones a little kinkier.

One of the things I love about Howince is that you can write uber-candyfloss fluff or you can write hardcore fetishistic porn, or you can even write the both of them together, and both fit perfectly with the dynamic. They have such a lovely closeness as characters, but there's also so much dark sexuality beneath the show that it can be quite disturbing when you stop and think about it. I just love that you can write both so easily.

Warning: Nothing graphic or explicit, but lots of talk about kink.

Dark Desires

He's like an animal in bed. He prowls, so quietly, from the foot of the bed, and then he pounces. He's predatory. He likes to bite. He'll bite anything- ears, thighs, shoulders, nipples- anything he can get his teeth into, and he savours it like an animal savours the carcass of its prey. He scratches too. He digs his nails in and rakes them down in a way that would make a panther proud. He likes to leave marks. He's brutish when he wants to be. And he never stops. Once he starts, he keeps going and going like a prizefighter, like a man-eater, until he can't keep going any more.

And then sometimes, he's a different animal. He needs the hunter to tame him. Those nights, he likes to be smacked, tied down, and held still by a body bigger, stronger and more powerful than his. He needs to be overpowered, taken down a peg, put in his place, shown who's really in control.

I'm happy to do it. I've taken my share of the marks, and I love each one. There are scars on my shoulders were he's clutched me too tightly, teethmarks on my buttocks from his hungry attacks, bruising all over from his jumps, his springs and his pounces.

And I love the marks I've left on him. I love it when the skin on his wrists is rubbed raw. When he's bent over and his backside is flaming red from my doing. I love it when he cries for mercy, when he begs and pleads and screams, and I laugh and hit him again.

And I love the nights when neither of us is in control. When it's hot and rough and thoughtless, and both of us just go at it, hard, mad, like animals.


	9. The Night We Met

This is basically a simplified version of part of my old fic 'The Secret History of Vince Noir'. I just thought, given that I'd already created this bit of my personal fanon, that the different ways the boys would react to the question would be quite funny.

The Night We Met

_Interview One: Moon, Howard T.J.  
_The night we met… it was his birthday. He was ten, so I'd have been closer to eleven, and I took him out for his birthday. I remember being really surprised at how excited he was when I asked him; you'd have thought he'd never spent an evening out just playing with a friend in his life. To tell you the truth- and please don't tell him I said this- I felt a bit sorry for him. He'd been living on his own on the streets for quite some time, I think it must have been well over a month, and he looked so upset when he told me it was his first birthday alone, that I couldn't help but offer to take him out for a little celebration. I bought him a cake and everything. I spent nearly all my pocket money on that cake, but it was worth it. I mean, two ten-year-olds with an entire birthday cake all to themselves- that's every kid's dream, isn't it.

He was terrible at bowling. Though I suppose he would be- he'd never done it before. I even tried to let him win, but he still couldn't beat me. Don't tell him I said that either.

I remember being so irritated as well that he was living by his own rules, and there was me, eight months older, and still having to be home by half past eight.

But… everything followed on from there. He kept coming back, and I couldn't get enough of him. He was nothing like any of the other children. In fact, I've still never met anyone even remotely similar to him. We just clicked, on that one night. We just clicked.

_Interview Two: Noir, Vincent.  
_Erm… yeah, we met at noon.


	10. Nightmares

I wrote this to take my mind of the fact that Dead Man Walking does not want to write. I really am sorry about this Jamie. Hopefully writing something else will help me come at it with a clear head, though actually (shock horror) getting out of the house doesn't seem to have helped too much yet.

But, yeah. The nightmare has been done a lot in this fandom, so I tried to figure out some way of making it more original. And as far as I know (tho I haven't read most of the fics in the last six weeks or so- BUT I WILL, eventually, promise, everyone), no one's approached it this way before.

This is, I think, the second most internal thing I've ever written. The first being that 'Song to Say Goodbye' songfic. I like experimentalism.

Some visual inspiration taken from that game on the Boosh BBC site.

Warning: violent imagery.

Hope you enjoy.

Nightmares

Stumble on the rough ground. Fall to the floor. Hard, hot stones. Discomfort. Pain.

A heat in the air. Dark skies and charged clouds. Electric. Lightning. Distant roll of thunder. Prickling on the back of the neck.

Look around.

Chain-link fences ripped to shreds, barbed wire buried in scorched earth. Plants trampled from a million running footsteps. Cars burn, smashed and ravaged, scattered over the burnt landscape. Dark water bears rotting raised ships. Moans and death rattles on the wind.

Get up. Move; slow, wary. Fear. Dull half-light, dull heartbeat. Step, step, step. Stale, humid heat. The stench. Smoke, burnt rubber and slow, lingering death. Keep walking.

Corpses, black as ash, burnt, mutilated, ripped apart, dumped in heaps with the debris. Ashen threads of clothes, thin twisted limbs, shrivelled skulls, contorted grimaces of pain and fear, glowing white teeth. Brittle fingers reaching for God.

Step over them. Stumble. Keep going.

Eyes ahead. No sound. No thought. Only twilight. Twilight and fear and purpose. Keep moving.

Scratches from jagged metal. Pain; sharp, sterile. Hot trickle of blood.

Blue and gold cloth caught on twisted wire. Stinking pools of blood and fur. Blue cotton wet with gristle. Broken top hat trampled into the ground. Once-bright orange and faded black stained in red mud. Dented trombone, shine dulled. White bones and scaly flesh ripped limb from limb.

Nausea. Whining buzz of feeding flies. Sick. Strain.

Run.

Stress. Pain. Panic. Fear.

Fall.

A dull ache. Heavy breath. Heart won't stop. Torn. Strained. It hurts.

Gone. Here. Alone.

No one.

Here. Alone. With It.

A call, faint, searching.

"_Howard… Howard…"_

Tremble and hide.

"_Howard…"_

And turn to the call. Look up to the voice. Rise.

And wake, to sunlight, the touch of his warm hand, as blue eyes shine concerned from beneath his raven halo.


	11. Saturday Night's All Right

I know I still haven't replied to most of the reviews for Dead Man Walking, but this finally wanted to come out, and once it's done, I hate having finished stuff unposted. So I thought I'd put it up now. Especially considering that the world may be due to end at 8am.

With that in mind, lots of reviews would be lovely, because I'm clearly a feedback whore and I'm not going to let any seven-headed dragons or black holes get in the way of that.

If you read this after 8am and the world hasn't ended, then I _suppose_ you don't have to review, but you'd be a very nice person if you did.

But, realistically, the world ain't gonna end, is it, so... if you want to, do. If not, hello!

That was unnecessarily long winded, but hey, it's 3am and I have nothing better to do. I'll shut up now, yeah.

Extra disclaiming: The lyrics in this chapter are from 'Saturday Night' by Suede, which is another thing I don't own. I still don't own the Boosh. Not even a tiny bit of it.

Enjoy.

Saturday Night's All Right

Howard is ready. He's changed, he's combed his hair, he's wearing that new cologne Vince picked out. He's been ready a while.

Vince isn't even close. Howard doesn't understand it. He's dressed already, and he looks beautiful. His hair is straightened, and Howard can't see how he could possibly look any different. Wherever they go tonight, who's ever going to notice some subtle something on his face?

"Oi!" Howard calls. "Lady! Move it!"

Vince turns round, sticks his tongue out, then grins. He stands up, leaning on one hip, and cups imaginary breasts. He gives Howard a coy little smile.

_Come on, tell me what you think._

Howard scrunches his face, holds his hand level and wiggles it.

_Hmm, so-so._

Vince laughs, and turns back to his makeup.

Howard can't see how he could possibly look any more beautiful.

Howard sits back, catching the music playing in the bedroom.

_O-oh, whatever makes her happy  
__On a Saturday Night…_

Howard can't help grinning. Then he laughs. Vince turns round, smiling, and Howard begrudgingly admits to himself that the makeup does make Vince's eyes look far more pronounced. He decides against mentioning it.

Vince turns back to the mirror, his reflection smiling as his little bum bounces cheekily to the music.

"Get out here, you look fine." Howard gets up and stands in the doorway. "Little tart."

When Vince ignores him, he proceeds further into the room and grabs Vince by the arm, pulling him upright. Vince struggles a moment, leaning away to cover his lips in one final coat of gloss, before complying and following him out of the room.

Howard leans down to kiss him, and Vince turns his head away.

"You'll smudge it," he pouts.

With two fingers on his cheek, Howard leans down again, and Vince is his.


	12. Electricity

Okay, okay, so I wasn't entirely truthful about the reviews. But you know that my promises do tend to be fairly dubious. Especially when I'm slightly ashamed and embarrassed to look at how much I really do need to read... um.

This probably doesn't make up for it, but consider it a tiny peace offering. I like it, anyway.

Dedicated to Kelly, to cheer her up for not winning Scene Junkie's wanksty competition, even though her entry was phenomenal and much better than the one that won.

Also, though it is probably not good for your eyes, staring into desk lamps is actually a lot more fun than it sounds. Yeah.

Electricity

It was an understatement to say that Howard was confused when he walked into the bedroom to see Vince staring into his desk lamp, flicking it on for a second, and then lying back on the bed and staring at the ceiling.

"What are you _doing?_" Howard asked, fighting to keep the bemused laughter from his voice.

Vince was noticeably dazed when he sat up and looked in Howard's general direction, blinking rapidly. "Have you never done this before?" he asked. "It's genius. You get this big… thing, right in front of your eyes, wherever you look, and you can watch it shift around and change colour. It's brilliant."

Howard just shook his head and came forward to the bed, watching as Vince's eyes struggled to focus on him. "You'll go blind," he told him.

Vince grinned cheekily in return. "Nah, that's masturbating."

Howard let out a sharp laugh, then threw himself onto the bed, grabbed Vince around the waist and pulled him on top of him. "Look at me instead."

"I can't, there's a big yellow blob in front of your face."

Howard sighed, still not quite managing a disapproving tone, at the sight of Vince's tiny pupils swimming uncertainly in his watery blue irises.

"I mean, not that there isn't usually a pink blob _on_ your face, but at least that's my pink blob."

"Shut up."

Vince laughed and kissed him, but pulled away quickly when his impaired vision caused him to miss Howard's mouth and plunge his tongue right into his moustache.

"And that is why you shouldn't stare into desk lamps," Howard chided, having now given up trying not to laugh. He pressed a hand to the back of Vince's head and pulled him in, revelling in the contented sounds as their tongues found their targets.


	13. Tender is the Night

I haven't been around much lately (not that anyone here would notice, considering how embarrassingly behind I still am, but... yeah. I'm behind on life now too, not just fic), so help yourself to two new helpings of fluffiness to make up for it. Written by hand, with a pen. With doodles in the margins and things. Normally this is something that only occurs in lectures.

Here is a drabble about a cold night. I know these far too well.

Tender is the Night

Vince quite likes it when he wakes up in the middle of the night.

The sky is a dark navy blue, still almost pitch black, as the last moments of some strange dream fade into the deepest inaccessible vaults of his memory. It's a little chilly, so he instinctively huddles up into a foetal position, tucking his arms in between his legs and his torso, and shivers gently. He's only wearing a little t-shirt and his pants, and it isn't near enough to keep him comfortably warm, but he dares not move in case it makes him colder.

As he recovers some of his consciousness, he remembers Howard on the other side of the bed, fast asleep with a smile on his face. Vince briefly wonders what he's dreaming about, and then pushes himself across the mattress, tensing up as he leaves the pool of warmth created by the heat of his own body, and presses himself flat against Howard. Howard is naked except for a pair of boxer shorts, and a deep heat radiates from his bare skin. Vince cuddles up to him and basks in it, pressing every inch of his skin against Howard's, closing up every tiny gap between their bodies. He buries his arms between his belly and Howard's, slips one leg underneath Howard's where it's bent, and puts his head under Howard's chin, nuzzling his face into the neck.

As the heat covers him and his sensitive body begins to burn with warmth, he pulls one arm from between them and rubs his hand lovingly along Howard's bare side, marvelling at the heat and the soft skin, before pushing it back between them, flattening his palm against Howard's chest.

He isn't entirely sure that Howard is awake when he feels his arms close around him.


	14. Insomnia

And the second of today's updates. More of the odd quirks in Vince's personality. I was gonna do one about one of them lying awake and watching the other sleeping, but who in all fairness hasn't written that yet? So I did this instead.

Also, now that I have a working charger, my writeup of the Booshtiemz in Sheffield will be up on my LJ soon, hopefully later today, if I can get my lazy arse in gear.

Insomnia

It's 4:30am, and Vince is still awake. Sighing, Howard gets up, shivering at the chill.

Vince is sitting on the sofa drinking coffee, glancing at a copy of 'Cheekbone' while an old sitcom plays quietly on the TV.

"Little man," Howard says softly as he approaches. "Are you coming to bed?"

"Hmm?" Vince replies, jumping slightly. "Oh. Yeah. I will. Just let me finish…" He vaguely attempts to indicate the TV, the magazine and his mug at once.

"Vince, what's wrong?" Howard asks, gently yet firmly, sitting down and pulling Vince closer.

"Nothing, I just… can't sleep, is all."

Howard smiles wearily and plucks the mug from his hands. "Can you not sleep because you've been up since whatever hour drinking endless cups of coffee?"

Vince's eyes drop. "Maybe…"

Howard smiles, a teasing edge creeping into his voice. "And why would that be?"

A faint blush begins to bloom on Vince's cheeks. "I just couldn't sleep, Howard," he insists, voice raising an octave or two. "Sometimes I just can't. It happens; I can't explain it."

Howard cups his cheek with one hand. Vince isn't quite meeting his eye. "Vince, tell me the truth," he says. "You stayed up watching 'Nightmare on Elm Street' again, didn't you?"

Vince purses his lips. "Might have done."

Howard wraps him in a hug. "Vince, you _know_ you shouldn't watch that right before bed," he scolds. "You know how it scares you."

"Yeah, I know, it's just… I can't help it." he looks Howard square in the face. "Howard, if we ever have a fire, and my skin gets that bad… shoot me, yeah?"

Howard doesn't answer. He just cuddles him closer and makes an odd sighing laugh. "It's funny, isn't it," he says. "Most people would be afraid of getting murdered in their sleep."


End file.
